


To Build a Home (For You, For Me)

by sauvegardeztout



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: Slice of Life, They built a life together, You can't convince me otherwise, domestic cartinelli, so here it is
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-05 18:25:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4190286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sauvegardeztout/pseuds/sauvegardeztout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post Season 1. It's life's small moments, the habits of the every day, that for two people build a house and home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So here it is, my take on what happens after season 1. It’ll be multi-chaptered, and I’m still not sure about the timeline, but I just wanted to write about their life together, because someone like Peggy Carter does not invite another person into her life like that, wouldn’t seek someone out to share a home with, unless she was serious about them—friend, family, or otherwise. You guys agree, right? So let’s see what that means for our two favourite gals!
> 
> Title is borrowed from the gorgeous, heartbreaking song “To Build a Home,” by Cinematic Orchestra. Except I promise this isn’t a sad story XD Pray tell why I keep giving my decidedly not angsty stories angsty titles?
> 
> Anyway, enjoy and happy reading!

It started with the whispers.

Of course they weren’t whispers so much as endless chattering between every resident of The Griffith Hotel, but Angie supposes that if a girl gets dragged outta the place in handcuffs, there’s gonna be some shop talk. So as much as she hated having to bite her own tongue in half at least fifty times a day, what with all these bad thoughts about _her_ English, she’ll put up with it for now.

Then it was the glances.

Most of them sympathetic, some of them condescending, all of them wrong. They crawled under Angie’s skin, set her teeth on edge, made her head throb, hands aching with tension.

That Angie, they said, so gullible.

Poor Angie, they whispered, too trusting.

Silly Angie, they laughed, so oblivious.

 _Naïve_ Angie, they sneered, she had to have known _something_.

Still she grit her teeth and bore it, and let their eyes follow her around like ghosts, let their words pass through her skin. She let it chip away at her resolve, let it pull at all her lose threads until the morning of the sixth day, when they finally pulled too hard and she unwound completely, reduced to a coil of thread heaped upon the floor.

Or the coil of an angry viper, ready to strike.

Angie sat far down the side of the long chain of breakfast tables, dressed in her sea foam green L&L uniform, scowling into her jam. Carol sat to her right, Gloria to her left, and a space of about three seats each left between the three of them and the rest of the girls. Apparently being the friend of an alleged criminal left you a social pariah; and apparently being friends with the social pariah who was friends with the alleged criminal was just as bad. The waitress was sorry her friends were being so unfairly segregated from the other girls, but also incredibly thankful they were still willing to talk to her anyway.

Despite the distance between them and the rest of the breakfasting tenants, Angie could still hear clear as day that the same gossip had yet to become yesterday’s news. Evelyn—of Midtown lounge singer fame—threw a giggle down the table, and it was her words that finally ignited the waitress’s fiery Italian fuse faster than a striking match.

“With a face like that, an’ all those fancy clothes? Those European girls are all the same you know, so _loose_. What a _hussy_.”

Angie's fork hit her plate so hard she's sure she cracked the damn thing, or at least bent the tines. The sudden silence was deafening.

"Okay, that's it, listen up gals, the Peggy Carter I know ain't some louse, or a cheat, and she ain't some _tramp_ like _some_ of you, an' if I hear one more rotten word said about ‘er I _swear_ to god I'll—"

"Miss Martinelli!" 

Angie met Ms. Fry's shrill cry with a heated glare.

"That's quite enough out of you! Such language is ill-fitting of _proper_ young ladies!" 

The petite woman just gave her an angry huff. “Frankly Ms. Fry, I could give a damn! I’m sick and tired of you all draggin’ Peggy’s good name through the mud! I won’t stand for it!”

The matron’s gaze grew shrewd, her voice warbling sharp. “Miss Carter very clearly violated the hallowed halls of this institution, Miss Martinelli. Are you saying such delinquent activities should be forgiven?”

Angie ignored the hissed warning from Carol, the slight kick to her ankle from Gloria, and held her chin up in defiance. “She had a good reason, I know it. And maybe if you’d pull the stick outta your rear end once in a while you coulda seen that!”

The gasps she got for that were almost gratifying enough to soften the coming blow. _Almost_.

Ms. Fry looked scandalized. "I will not tolerate this sort of uncouth behavior in my establishment! I hope you've enjoyed your stay at The Griffith, because tonight will be your last! I expect you to be gone by morning!"

Angie stood so abruptly the screeching of her chair had everyone flinching. She balled up her napkin, tossing it angrily down into her powdered eggs. "Fine by me!"

Straightening her uniform with the most dignity she could muster, Angie held her head high as she stalked off and out of the dining hall, only dimly aware of the burst of voices that exploded into the air after she cleared the threshold. Fine, let them talk, buncha gabby geese. She’d never be sorry for defending her friend. Peggy was a _good_ person, she was sure of it, and the rest of them could shove it until she came back and proved it. Because she _was_ coming back. Right? She owed Angie her answers, and by golly she’d get ‘em. She _was_ coming back…said so herself. _Someday_.

And the doubt that slithered up her spine at that moment had her frozen in place, rooted to the walkway outside. She couldn’t breathe.

Was she coming back?

* * *

 

Carol and Gloria were waiting for her after her shift that night, standing outside her room with matching smiles of sympathy. Angie couldn’t tell if the ache she felt all over was from a long day’s work or a long day of letting her doubts bruise her chest from the inside out. Either way, she was glad to see them. She met Carol’s exasperated sigh with a sheepish, tired smile.

“So who wants to help me pack?”

Gloria threw up her hands as Angie stuck her key in the lock, leading them inside. “Can’t believe you got yourself kicked out like that! Jeez, Ange, hope it was worth it!”

She tossed herself onto her bed, heaving out a huge breath, but her voice was steady and her reply instant. “It was.”

Her friends were frowning at her as she got back up again, retreating into her en suite to change into something that smelled more like flowers and less like French fries. Gloria’s voice followed her through the door.

“How well do you even know this gal? She could be foolin’ you!”

“’Bout as well as I know the two of you,” was the muffled reply. “Maybe even better’n that. Besides,” The door swung open again, the petite woman striding over to pull down her suitcases from the closet and unceremoniously dump everything within reach into them. “I ain’t nobody’s fool. I know what I’m doing.”

Carol crossed her arms, not at all convinced. “You really don’t think Peggy’s trouble?”

Angie blew a stray curl away from her eyes, making a face. “I really don’t." 

Her friend raised an eyebrow at her. “And what makes you so sure?”

Angie couldn’t answer at first, pausing over her roughhouse packing. She didn’t think _because I know her_ would be enough to placate them. But she _did_ know her, of that Angie was certain. It didn’t matter that the Englishwoman wasn’t always truthful with her, didn’t matter that she had been evading at best, or even that it was obvious she had no real idea how she spent her time—Angie _knew_ her.

She knew the endless variety of Peggy’s smiles, how the genuine ones always put her dimples on full display. She knew how she took her coffee, her favorite tea, and which she wanted depending on her moods. She knew the stiffer her posture, the worse her day had been, that when it was cold she favored her right shoulder, that her eyes were the color of wildflower honey when she was happy, a rich molasses when she wasn’t. Maybe it wasn’t a lot of things, maybe they weren’t even things that most would consider important, but for Angie it was enough. Because despite the fact that everything she didn’t know about Peggy Carter far outweighed what she did, the one truth between them was that she knew she had the Englishwoman’s trust, and for reasons beyond her, Peggy had hers. Angie was nothing if not a loyal friend, and that was enough for her to have faith.

She sighed, turning around to face the other girl, hands akimbo. “Look, I don’t really know, alright? But Peggy’s my friend and I trust her, and that’s enough for me.”

For all their doubts, Angie was thankful they left it at that, letting the comfort of companionship lead them into dawn as her life slowly disappeared into four suitcases and a book box.

She took one last visual sweep just as morning filled the room to the brim with light, heaving a sigh. “Well, I guess that’s that.”

Gloria looked upset. “Where’ll you go now, Angie?”

Angie couldn’t answer that, either. She really had no idea. She figured she’d ask a gal at the automat if she could crash at hers for a few days, and then after that…well, _she’d_ probably be the one living under the 3 rd Avenue El. But at least that way she wouldn’t have to go back home. God bless her Ma but Angie’d never be let outta the house again in her life if they knew she got kicked out of her place. She let out a sigh.

“Dunno, Glo. I’ll figure somethin’ out, don’t you worry nothin’.”

It was silent between the three of them for a moment as Angie made her last minute rounds, snapping the clasps on her tweed suitcase shut. She gave her friends a weak smile.

“Can you gals help me drag all this down to the lobby?"

Carol was still frowning at her, but this time it was sad as she moved to pick up a box from the floor. Angie led them out of her room, ignoring the sadness welling in her belly. It was like a procession, girls lining the hall to watch her go with blank faces, girls pausing on the steps, chatter dying away completely as they made their way down, girls who she had considered neighbors and friends now letting her go virtually homeless without a single word. Angie guessed that old adage was true then; you never really knew who your real friends were until you’re in a crisis.

They were off the stairs and almost halfway across the lobby before someone cleared their throat at her. She looked up, and then promptly stopped in her tracks at the sight of the man waiting for her. He moved forward then, her eyebrows rising in tandem with every step closer he took 

“Ah, Miss Martinelli, hello.” He held his hand out politely with a kind smile. “I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced. Edwin Jarvis.”

Angie couldn’t, for once in her life, think of a single thing to say. She shook his hand with all the strength of a limp noodle, blinking in surprise, and the moniker snuck past her lips before she could stop it. “Nice to finally have a name for you, Mr. Fancy.”

She winced at herself— _damnit, Angie, always so tactless_ —but Jarvis just smiled at her, lightly amused. “If you’d indulge her for a moment, Miss Carter would like to speak with you—”

Angie’s heart leapt into her throat. “Peggy’s here?”

“Yes, she’s waiting just outside—”

The rest of his words were lost in a rush of motion as she darted past him right out the front of The Griffith doors, grinding to a half as soon as the sunlight touched her, because there she was. Leaning against the side of a Prussian blue Packard was her English, arms crossed casually over a deep maroon dress, gaze focused off somewhere in the city distance. She barely registered her bags as they dropped from her hands, fingers trembling with nerves and excitement and anger and God only knew what else.

Angie didn’t know if she wanted to run to her in relief or stomp over in anger. Her body decided on an awkward cross between the two as she charged the other woman.

Their eyes met, and Peggy’s face lit up as she gave herself an ungraceful shove off the car frame, only to be shoved back into it by an armful of petite Italian. The curse she was gifted with was muttered into her shoulder.

“Goddamn you, Peggy Carter.”

The waitress pulled back abruptly, socking her in the shoulder none-too-gently. “You—! Just—!”

The way Peggy smiled at her loosened the angry knot in her chest. “Someday can be today, if you’d like.”

Wind effectively blown out of her sails, she sagged, valiant in her efforts to stop the smile she felt coming from cracking her face in half. She was unsuccessful.

“That’d be a nice change. Got plenty of time on my hands.” She watched Peggy bite back a smile at her familiar words, and tried to do the same. She was unsuccessful. Again, jeez. “I’m all ears.”

Peggy cleared her throat, barely getting one word out before her eyes narrowed onto the suitcases Angie had completely forgotten about, lying abandoned at the top of the stairs. The sudden wave of guilt that washed over Peggy made her heart hurt.

“Peg…”

“Going somewhere? A well-deserved holiday, perhaps?”

The faint strain to her half-hearted jest had Angie wincing and smiling at the same time. "Yeah, about that...I've sorta been...kicked out."

Peggy's eyes went sad. "For helping me."

Angie could feel the heat creeping up her neck as her gaze shifted toward the sky. "Not exactly." Her eyes found Peggy's again, matching the inquisitive tilt to her eyebrow with one of her own.

"You'll get'cher answers when I get mine, English."

"Fair enough."

Jarvis appeared just then, looking exceedingly uncomfortable with the small gaggle of girls following him out of the building, cooing and giggling over his accent. The restrained grimace he held on his face had Angie hiding a laugh into her palm.

"Oh, splendid." Peggy waved him over. "Mr. Jarvis, would you mind terribly helping Miss Martinelli's things into the car?"

Jarvis' blue eyes smiled kindly at the two women, discomfort leaving his frame as he stepped toward them. "Certainly, Miss Carter."

Angie's eyebrows had by this point nearly disappeared into her hairline. "Peg?"

The dimpled smile Peggy gave her had her heart stamping powerfully in her chest. "Surely you wouldn't think me imprudent enough to let you go homeless, now would you, darling?"

The relief that softened Angie’s face was so obvious it made Peggy at once feel guilty for being the reason she needed that relief in the first place, and proud of herself for providing it anyway.

“You mean it?”

The agent ushered her toward Jarvis. “The sooner you collect your things, the sooner I can prove it to you.”

The grin she got in return for that was blinding. Angie darted forward, pulling a startled Jarvis along after her by the cuff of his sleeve. “Well c’mon then Mr. Fancy, time’s a’wastin’!”

Peggy watched them go with a fond smile, swallowing a chuckle as the usually graceful butler tripped over his own feet in his haste to keep up with the bubbly young woman. She could admit to feeling some relief as well—that Angie didn’t hate her, that she could still count her as a friend, that she didn’t have to hole up in what was essentially one of Howard Stark’s personal bordellos all by herself. Perhaps especially that last one.

Two approaching figures took her out of her thoughts. The fact that anyone at all was coming to her was surprising to the Englishwoman. Most of the women who had followed Jarvis outside had retreated back in to watch her from behind the safety of the glass windows with suspicious eyes, the ones who hadn’t whispering in a cluster near the front stairs. Peggy didn’t particularly mind the gossip—at the very least it would keep them all away from the dangers of her life, and keeping people safe was her job, after all, if not her life’s purpose. She just hadn’t been expecting anyone but Angie—maybe not even Angie, though she was most assuredly glad to be wrong—to be willing to speak with her.

Peggy gave them her best apologetic smile. "Hello ladies."

Gloria’s answering smile was sunny. "Hiya Peg!"

Carol gave her a narrow-eyed once over, though the small smile on her face belied her judgment. "Nice t'see you outta your chains, Peggy."

The agent chuckled, rubbing at her wrist for show. "Yes, and from my side as well. I do apologize for the trouble, but I assure you it was all a misunderstanding."

"Oh I knew you weren't no criminal, Pegs!" Gloria chirped. "Though some of the other girls weren't too convinced that you ain't some sorta high class call girl."

Carol laughed at the sudden burst of color on the usually so reserved Englishwoman's face. It was reaction enough to bring back her kind smile completely. "You don't need to worry about that, Angie chewed into anyone who even _thought_ bad things about you."

Speak of the devil. Peggy caught sight of the other woman again as she exited out of the front doors, laden down with a very familiar suitcase and army-issued duffle. Her brows rose in surprise.

"You've my things, Angie?"

The three turned their attention to the new arrival as she shrugged, shooting a vaguely irritated look at the window where Miriam Fry was watching them with a shrewd gaze. "I didn't want Ms. Fry throwin' 'em out, and I sure didn't want those suits comin' back to trash the place, so yeah, I grabbed what I could that first night." She matched the surprise still etched on Peggy's face with a tentative half-smile, suddenly unsure. "I hope that's okay."

Peggy was sure that the warmth that spread in her chest was reflected on her face as she gave her a nod, saying softly, "More than okay. I'm grateful, thank you."

Angie’s half-smile grew to a full one. Before the two of them could get completely caught up in staring at each other for longer than probably acceptable, Peggy stepped forward and took the duffle from her friend’s hand, tugging it open just a fraction to gauge its contents. Her formal SSR uniform was folded neatly right on top, the accolades pinned to the lapels briefly gleaming in the sunlight. She breathed a sigh of relief.

“Bless you, Angie.”

Peggy grinned at the uncharacteristic display of shyness from her friend as she ducked her head, avoiding her eyes. Gloria cleared her throat, watching them half curious, half amused.

“So where you livin’ these days? Got yourself a place after this whole mess?”

"I've managed to secure a residence for myself, yes. What kind of friend would I be if I didn't take Angie along with me?"

Angie rolled her eyes. "Where you go I go, apparently."

Peggy laughed. "I'm quite sure it's the other way around."

“How d’you figure that?”

The agent shot her an _are you joking?_ look. “Do you honestly think I frequent the automat simply for the coffee?”

Angie shrugged, fighting a losing battle with her own face. “Pie’s pretty good, too.”

“Maybe only the rhubarb.”

“That’s ‘cause you haven’t tried the apple.”

Carol smirked. “You gals bicker like an old married couple, I swear.”

Angie hid a snicker within a cough, probably a little too amused at Peggy’s befuddled expression. Her friend shook it off her face, turning back to her in seriousness. “When I had been without house and home, you brought me here. Now if you’ll allow me to return the favor…” She trailed off pointedly, sweeping a gesture toward the car. The waitress rolled her eyes again.

“Fine fine, gosh English don’t gotta twist my arm or nothin’.”

“If you keep rolling your eyes like that they’ll get stuck that way.” Peggy deadpanned, popping open the door.

Angie stuck her tongue out instead, as any grown woman would do. Obviously. “Yes, _mother.”_

Jarvis was back with the last of her things, really just a box and another small suitcase, loading them and Peggy’s duffle into the trunk of the car with all his usual flourish. He turned to them with a genial smile. “Shall we be off then, ladies?”

“Indeed, Mr. Jarvis.” Peggy said, swatting away his hand from the door handle as she continued to hold it open for her friend. Jarvis’s mouth pulled down into a deep frown, as close to a pout as the man would ever make, and sulked off to the driver’s side.

"Well don't be a stranger, the both of you, ya hear?" Carol wagged her finger at the waitress. "I still expect you to go out with the rest of us, Ange!" Then she turned that finger on a startled Peggy. "You too, Peg!"

The pair exchanged a look, before breaking out in matching smiles.

"You're welcome anytime, girls." Peggy said warmly. "We'll call with the address, once we're settled." She frowned with a sudden thought. "Well, perhaps Angie can call, as I'm quite sure Ms. Fry would boil me alive if I or my telephone came within a 50 meter radius of her ‘fine establishment’ ever again."

All three of them nodded, and everyone’s gaze wearily slipped back to the window where Ms. Fry had finally, thankfully, disappeared. Angie shrugged, pulling her friends into hugs.

“See you gals soon.” And then she was sliding across fine leather seats, Peggy right beside her, and Angie had to take a moment to convince herself that this was really happening as the car rumbled away from the curb. It was only when The Griffith shrank away into the distance did she speak again, turning to the other woman with a bounce and wide eyes. “So. Where we headed?”

Peggy gave her a secretive smile. “How much do you know about Howard Stark?”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peggy finally lets her walls down (a smidgen), and Angie finally gets her answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, you guys, thank you so much for your responses, I'm honored you guys like it so much! Here's the next installment!
> 
> Happy reading!

* * *

 

_“I am quite certain, there is only one person in the world who knows what to do with this. You, Miss Carter”_

“Edwin.”

Jarvis blinked in surprise. She had never called him by his first name before. That coupled with the fragility on her face had him concerned.

Peggy’s mouth opened and closed a few times, struggling between the words she needed to say and the tears she needed to keep at bay. “Would you mind…could I ask…”

The way she was gripping the vial in her hand, like it was at once keeping her together and ripping her apart, had a profound sadness welling in his chest. He would never pity her—he held her in much too high an esteem to disrespect her like that—but he did hurt for her, with her, this woman whom he considered one of his only true friends. Jarvis was gentle as he asked, “How may I assist you, Miss Carter?

She frowned, brow knit. “I need to…Brooklyn. Will you take me to Brooklyn?”

“I’d be glad to.”

“…Let me tell Angie I’ll be stepping out.”

Jarvis’ small smile was kind. “I’ll give you a moment, then.”

Peggy heard the heavy front doors close just as light footsteps bounded back into the room. She quickly hid the vial in her coat pocket, blinking away the moisture in her eyes. 

“Peg!” Angie near skidded to a halt in front of her, waving her hands around. “This place is e- _normous!_ You’re sayin’ it’s just you n’ me here?”

The agent smiled. “Just you and I, yes.”

She couldn’t help the few chuckles that escaped her at the wonderfully accurate piscine impression Angie was currently giving her. “Is that alright with you?”

“What—of course it’s alright, it’s just, _jeez_ English, I can’t stay here. For free! It’s too much!”

Peggy just raised her eyebrows at her. “I don’t work at the telephone company.”

Angie rolled her eyes in response. “Obviously not.”

“Where I _do_ work however, manages to get me into spots of trouble from time to time. Of the, shall we say, _legal_ , and more often than not physical variety.” Peggy tapped her chin in playful thought, biting back a smile at how comically wide Angie’s eyes got at the word _physical_. “Now, you might be able to imagine that such an occupation will make one quite the assortment of enemies—Nazi’s, mad scientists, Dottie—"

“ _Dottie_ , what does she—”

“—I’ll explain that one later. But yes, enemies. And so in light of these circumstances, I would feel inordinately better if I had you within sight twenty-four-seven. So you see, my motives are entirely selfish.”

“But—”

“Think of it as a favour. If you’d stay, you’d be granting me an incredible courtesy.”

Angie’s lips quirked up in an amused half smile, silently mouthing the word _courtesy_ as she shook her head. She threw up her palms, stepping closer to her friend. “Alright, I’ll stay.” She pointed a stern finger at the other woman, eyes shining in jest. “But you owe me.”

Peggy’s sudden smile matched hers. “Much obliged, Angie.”

The smaller woman waved her away with a laugh, shrugging off her coat. “Go on then, run your errands. I’ll make dinner.”

“Oh, Angie you don’t have to—”

Angie cut her off with a cheeky smile. “Think of it as a _favor_.”

The Englishwoman shut her mouth with a click. “You don’t play fair.”

“It’s fair enough!”

Peggy paused, caught up in a sudden wave of gratitude and affection for the young woman in front of her; and then in a burst of speed that surprised both of them, she darted forward, all but tackling her friend in a hug. She pulled back before the squeak had finished leaving Angie’s lips, clearing her throat at her surprised eyes.

“I’ll be back then.”

Angie was looking at her with an expression Peggy didn’t understand, but in an instant it was gone, replaced by a warm smile.

“I’ll be here.”

 

* * *

 

Peggy was subdued when she came back in the early twilight, melancholy drifting around her like the evening breeze. Angie was in the kitchen, just putting the lid on a shining crockpot of stew when the other woman wandered in with a quiet hello. Angie watched her eyes flit around without taking in a single detail, fiddling with the ends of the tea towel slung over her shoulder, before she spoke.

“Evenin’, English. Dinner’s ready, you hungry?”

Peggy gave her a tentative smile. “Actually, I…could we talk, first? If I don’t explain all this now I feel I might never do it.”

Angie tossed the towel onto the counter, stepping forward. “Sure thing, Peg.”

The Englishwoman turned, leading them both back into the drawing room and plunking down on one of the long sofas with none of her usual grace and every bit as much weary bonelessness as she currently exuded. Angie sat beside her, one knee bent beneath her, and waited.

A minute passed, then five, then ten. The silence stretched between them for so long Angie had started to wonder if maybe the other woman had gone to sleep with her eyes open, and was about to wave a hand to check when Peggy sucked in a sudden breath, and began.

“I don’t work at the telephone company.”

Angie raised an eyebrow. “I think you mentioned that already, about a couple’a thousand times.”

Peggy just knotted her fingers together. “It’s not a telephone company at all really, New York Bell. It’s a shell company for a military subsidiary, The Strategic Scientific Reserve. That’s where I work, as an agent.”

Angie’s mouth pops open. “An agent? Like a _secret_ agent?” She gasped, leaning forward eagerly as her eyes lit up. “English! You’re a _spy?!_ ”

Peggy bit the inside of her cheek, trying (and failing, spectacularly) to keep a straight face. “Angie,” she tried for chastising, but the Englishwoman thought her tone sounded more endeared than reproachful. “I’m not a _spy_ , really, I am simply part of a team of people whose job it is to solve problems of government that more…traditional methods cannot.”

“Sounds like a spy to me.”

She let the incessant twitching of her lips finally break out into a smile. “Alright. I’m a spy. Sort of. Though for the record I prefer the term ‘agent.’”

Angie just looked like she had been told there really was a God, or where to find buried treasure, or what exactly was in her mother’s secret lemon cream sauce recipe. “It makes so much sense now! All the sneakin’ and lyin’ and climbing up the fire escape at two in the morning—”

Peggy’s mouth popped open. “You know about that?”

“You’re not as sneaky as you think.”

That made her smile. “To everyone but you.”

She let the lightness linger for a moment before her smile fell again.

“I _am_ sorry, you know.” Peggy said quietly. “For lying to you.”

Angie shrugged. “It’s alright…I understand why you had to.” She paused. “I don’t know that it’ll be okay if you keep doin’ it now though.”

Peggy’s eyes were on her hands again, folded neatly in her lap. “Mr. Jarvis said something to me once, when I asked him about keeping things like this from his wife.”

“Fancy’s got a _wife?_ ”

The agent rolled her eyes. “I did tell you we weren’t involved. Several times, in fact.”

Angie ducked her head sheepishly. “Sorry Peg.”

“Right, well, he told me that while he may not always be truthful with her, he is always honest. I admit that I didn’t understand quite what he meant until now.”

“I don’t follow.”

The older woman shifted to face her friend more fully. “It means that I can’t always tell you where I’m going, or what I’m doing, but I will always tell you why.”

The other woman didn’t look like she wanted to accept that. “Peggy…”

But she just shook her head, eyes dark and serious. “My work, my life, _myself_ —there is real danger there, Angie. If you’re going to be around me I need to make sure you aren’t…punished for it.”

She looked away, shame burning in her throat and pulling down at her lips. "And I'm sorry for the times I was distant with you, but I thought—" She cut herself off, sucking in a noisy breath, wounds to her heart still burning fresh at the memory of Steve and Colleen; of Krzeminski, Li, Junior, Chief Dooley—so many casualties, so much of it her fault.

Slender fingers slipped over her clenched fists, easing them open as the weary woman's watery eyes snapped back up at the touch. Angie's smile was patient and forgiving as she squeezed her hands in comfort. Somehow it hurt Peggy's already tender heart even more.

"Everyone I get close to gets hurt. I don't get to keep people. No matter how hard I try, I can never keep them safe." She took in a ragged breath. "And then I'd look at you with your big, beautiful blue eyes and think 'what sort of misfortune am I bringing upon her, just by being here?' And I couldn't stay, Angie."

Angie was quiet, holding her gaze for a moment so long she felt like squirming. Her face was carefully blank when she broke the silence. "You always came back."

Peggy's lips quirked up in a self-depreciating smile. "I couldn't stay, but I also couldn't quite manage to bring myself to go, either. 

Angie's voice was the quietest she'd ever heard it. "Why?"

Peggy laughed, a sad, watery thing that made Angie's heart hurt. "Because you are incredibly stubborn," she starts, clenching her jaw to keep in her tears. "And I am incredibly selfish."

Angie reached over, catching a tear from her friend’s cheek gently with her thumb. Peggy flinched at the contact like she’d shot her instead, like she’d never had comfort in sadness. Angie didn’t think she had, watching her roughly swipe at her face and take a deep breath, watching her walls fly back up. Her friend cleared her throat, dislodging any remaining tears, and swallowed them.

“You remind me of someone. Someone I…I lost, in the war. And it made it at once difficult and easy to be around you. I couldn’t quite decide which.” The look she shot Angie then was teasing. “Clearly you made up my mind for me,” she chided, tsk’ing. “So stubborn.”

The waitress gave her a cheeky smile. “My mother used to call me _ventosa_ when she was all fed up. It’s kinda like a suction cup. 

Peggy laughed at that. “I don’t know if you should look quite so proud about it.”

“Point is, English, you’ve been stuck with me since the day you wandered into the automat.” She pointed to herself proudly. “Very good at stickin’ t’things.” And then she turned that finger onto Peggy. “And sorry honey, but you’re sure one of those things now. 

All traces of sadness left her then, a slow, full smile lighting up her face as she took Angie’s finger, giving it a playful shake. “Thank goodness for that.”

The smaller woman’s answering grin was blinding. “Well c’mon then,” she said, bouncing up off the sofa and pulling the Englishwoman with her. “Even superspies gotta eat. Stew’s good, I promise.”

“It smelled divine, Angie.”

It’s not until they’re sitting at the table, bowls of broth steaming in front of them that Angie asks,

“So. You gonna tell me why _Iowa_ of all people is on your hit list?”

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Angie meets Howard Stark, and Jack Thompson, and Daniel Sousa. Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! How was everyone's 4th of July? Thanks so incredibly much for the comments and kudos, I'm so stoked you're all enjoying it! I hope this chapter is fun too. I had a blast writing in Thompson and Sousa, can you tell? XD
> 
> Anybody want a fun fact? Betty Hutton's "Doctor, Layer, Indian Chief," was a top 40 hit in 1946, and also a popular performance number live at the real Stork Club in New York City in the same year. I also like it, and thought it was just NOT PC-enough for Thompson to know all the words lol
> 
> Happy Reading!

* * *

 

It was the first full day they’d gotten to spend together since moving in. Angie had the day off, and Peggy was still steadfastly ignoring the SSR and their hundreds of daily phone calls. So they were settled together in the breakfast nook, which they’d appropriated as their meal table because, according to Angie, having to yell down a fifteen-foot dining table to pass the salt is ridiculous _and_ rude.

“I got _some_ manners, you know.” 

It’s nearing half three, after a day so far spent turning one corner of the copious amount of backyard they have into an herb garden (“No proper English household is without a garden, you know.” “And no proper Italian one is without somethin’ edible growin’ in there somewhere. Work with me here, Peg.”), and they just settled down for mid-afternoon tea when the chiming of the doorbell startled them both.

Angie gave her a confused look. “You expecting company?”

The agent shook her head, placing her teacup back on its saucer as she rose from the table. “No, you?”

“Not me.”

Peggy’s expression turned into what Angie liked to think of as her “spy face,” and she pulled a small handheld from the underside of the hanging kitchen cabinet as she passed through the doorway. Angie rolled her eyes and called after her.

“I don’t think assassins are polite enough to ring doorbells, English!” 

She assumed she was right when Peggy let out a distant “oh,” and the telltale creaking of the front door opening brought in the early summer breeze. Muffled voices carried through to her until the agent reappeared, framed in the doorway with a familiar man at her side.

Peggy gestured to her as she rose from the table to greet them.

“Howard, this is—”

She barely got two words out before Howard lit up in recognition. “Why if it ain’t Miss Angie! So nice to see you again.”

Both Angie and Peggy’s eyebrows flew up in surprise, but for entirely different reasons. Peggy turned to her in incredulity.

“You two have met?”

To which the smaller woman just gave her a flat look. “Your _cousin_ , Peggy, really?”

The agent’s lips formed a silent ‘o’ as she gave her friend a sheepish look, shrugging, before turning back to Howard with narrowed eyes. He just waggled his eyebrows, leering at the petite Italian.

“What did I tell ya Peg, I never forget a pretty girl’s name.”

Both women’s faces contorted in twin disgust before Peggy thwacked him on the back of the head, ignoring his cry of pain completely.

“Even _one_ untoward thought, Howard, and the only name you’ll be remembering is your own.”

The man glared at her, rubbing the back of his head. “Sheesh, fine, I got it. Think you’d be a little nicer to the guy who’s puttin’ ya up.”

If looks could kill, Howard Stark would currently be a pile of ash in the middle of their kitchen floor for how hot the lasers burned out of Peggy’s eyes. Angie swallowed a laugh at the way he withered beneath it.

The industrialist cleared his throat, grinning weakly. “Have I said thanks for savin’ my hide again lately?”

“That’ll do.”

Angie couldn’t stop her laughter then. She’d never seen her friend act so much like a pair of squabbling siblings with anyone before. “Well lookit you, defending my honor and all that. My hero.”

Peggy gave her a cheeky smile, with a little bow like the chevalíere in shining armor she really was. “At your service, maiden faire.”

Howard’s mustache pulled down so low Peggy thought it might fall right off his face. And then his expression turned to what she could only describe as petulant, stuffing his hands deep into his pants pockets as he mumbled, “Turned me down, anyhow. Only gal on th’whole floor who did!”

Peggy straightened up in a snap, delighted. “Did you really?”

Angie met that grin with one of her own. “Kinda girl you think I am, English? Of course I did.”

The way Peggy started to laugh then had both her friends smiling despite themselves. Even Howard, who couldn’t help the twitching of his moustache, though the laughter was at his expense, marveled a little at his friend. He’d never seen Peggy so relaxed before, and he tried to be discreet with the way he side-eyed the woman who caused it. The way she was watching Peggy made him pause. Well. _That’s_ interesting.

“Oh,” Peggy sighed, flicking away moisture from her lashes with a single finger. “Yes, in that case I think this will work just fine.”

Howard went back to pouting. “Come on Peg, what’s that supposed t’mean?”

Peggy’s hands flew akimbo. “I had reservations about keeping a young woman you’ve yet to corrupt, _in your home_ , under your nose. It’s like waving raw steak in front of a feral dog.”

“Hey I can be good!”

“I’m not sure you can. She’s just your type.”

“She’s a choice bit’a calico, sure, but I know not t’step on your toes like that!”

Angie crossed her arms at that, somewhere between amused and affronted. “You both know I can hear you, right?”

“Sorry.”

Peggy didn’t sound sorry.

“I can take care of myself English.”

_Now_ she sounded sorry. “I have no doubt about that.” She hooked her thumb at the frowning genius. “It’s _this_ one I don’t trust.”

Howard slapped an open palm to his chest. “Jeez, and after all this time, that’s what I get!”

The woman huffed, backhanding him on the shoulder. “Oh do shut up, you.”

Angie laughed. “Relax Peg, I ain’t gonna fall prey to some sheik.”

The industrialist looked her up and down with a leery grin. “But I ain’t just any ol’ sheik, doll.”

Peggy gave her a pointedly exasperated look. “See? Howard, what did I just say?”

“Sorry.” 

He didn’t sound sorry.

The agent sighed, very deliberately putting both hands on Angie’s shoulders and steering them to stand on the other side of the table away from the man.

“Was there something you needed, Howard, or did you come here specifically to irritate me?”

“Oh.” He grinned easily. “Nah, just a social call. Wanted t’see how you were settlin’ in and all.”

The women exchanged a glance, before breaking out in matching smiles. “Well, that’s…rather sweet of you. I’d say we’re settled enough, right Angie?”

The waitress nodded. “Oh yeah, so settled. Like two peas in a very big pod. Marbles in an empty jar.” She scrunched her nose. “Spinsters in a penthouse?”

Peggy grumbled. “For the last time, we are _not_ getting a cat. Or any sort of pet.”

Angie shrugged. “Can’t blame a girl for tryin’.”

Howard nodded, glancing at his watch. “Well good t’see you’re just fine here, ladies. I’ll get gone now, then.”

Peggy tilted her head at him, contemplative. She had just opened her mouth to question his hasty departure when the shrill ringing of the house telephones cut her off.

Angie patted her shoulder. “I got it. Probably those goons from your office again.” She gave the industrialist a quick wave, walking backwards to the hall telephone. “Nice to see you, Mr. Stark.”

“Likewise, Miss.”

Peggy’s contemplation had turned to suspicion. “Howard—”

“Walk me out, would you Peg?”

Angie’s distant “Hello, Carter Residence,” reached Peggy’s ears as she led the industrialist back out toward the front door, ignoring the way it made her heart twitch in her chest in favour of the growing niggling feeling in the back of her head at the man’s increasingly shifty eyes. She stopped him in the foyer, crossing her arms expectantly.

“Alright, out with it, why you _really_ here?”

Howard pulled her toward him by the elbow. “Awright, I lied. Whaddn’t just a social call.” He looked past her shoulder for a moment, and then whispered so loud he may as well have just talked. “You goin’ back to the SSR yet?”

“Angie already knows, Howard, no need to whisper. And no, I wasn’t planning on returning any time in the near future.” Her gaze turned suspicious then, watching his nervous twitching, and she sighed, loudly.

“Well come on then, spit it out.”

“The g-men are after me.”

Peggy’s expression went hard. “What in the bloody hell have you done now—”

He cut her off, waving a hand. “No, no, nothing like that. They want t’strike a deal, an exclusive for developing their weapons tech.”

“And pray tell why you need me at the SSR to do this? You’re an independent contractor, I was under the impression that lets you do whatever you right well please anyway.”

“Well sure, but I won’t get t’do all that if I sign up with them now will I? And Hoover’s callin’ me up personally, what’m I supposed t’say to a guy like that, _no?_ ” He shook his head. “Nah, what _I_ need is a better offer.”

Peggy was incredulous. “And you want it from _me?_ ”

“Why not? Been workin’ with the SSR for a while now, wouldn’t mind a more permanent arrangement.” He grinned. “Besides, I’d get plenty more freedom with you in charge.”

“You’re forgetting that _Thompson_ is acting chief, Howard, not me.”

Howard scoffed. “Thompson’s an idiot. Couldn’t figure his way outta a damn shoebox, had t’get a woman to do his job for ‘im.”

He winced at the dark look that passed over Peggy’s face then, holding his palms up in surrender. “Didn’t mean it like that—c’mon Peg! I need someone on the inside, someone I can trust!”

The woman was still eyeballing him wearily, hands on her hips. She needed one last push.

“What’re you doin’ so important here anyways? I know you Peg, you prolly haven’t sit this still since the day you were _born_. Don’t tell me you ain’t gettin’ restless.”

Peggy’s face was twisted into something that told him she would rather stick herself in the eye with hot pokers than concede his point, but then she dropped her head, hands on her hips as she sighed heavily again. 

“Fine. You’re right.” Her smile was reluctant. “I hate it when you’re right.”

“Don’t worry, dunn’t happen very often,” he grinned. “Besides, someone’s gotta go look for that Ida—”

“Or Dottie—”

“—Whatever her name is, before she uses those feminine wiles on some other poor bastard. Ain’t too keen on gettin’ kidnapped by another cookoo clock just mad ‘cause I didn’t call ‘er back the next morning.”

Peggy snorted, steering him out the door. “Then maybe you should stop bedding so many of them.”

“ _Peggy_.” Her name was drawn out of him slowly, like one would speak to a child when something simply flew over their head. “I’ve got a reputation to keep up, y’know. Can’t deny all the gorgeous gals of New York City this charm. _That_ would be criminal.”

Peggy didn’t know it was possible to find the same man both endearing and disgusting at the same time, but alas. “Go home, Howard.”

“I’ll be callin’ ya first thing to make sure you’re back at it!”

“Good- _bye_ , Howard!”

She promptly closed the door on his ridiculously large grin, spinning on her heel and heading back into the kitchen. Angie was back at the table when she got there, raising an eyebrow at her. “What was that all about?”

Peggy sat back down roughly into her chair, peering into her tepid tea before she raised an eyebrow right back.

“Looks like I’m going back to work.”

 

* * *

 

When Peggy walked back into the office the next morning, Daniel stood as quickly as he could, making his way over to her with a smile. She felt one on her face as well, before her vision was obscured by tan tweed and it promptly fell right off.

Jack’s all-American grin met her in far closer proximity to her person than she would have liked, making her rear back. He clapped her on the shoulder, oblivious. “There’s my Marge! I knew you couldn’t stay away for long.”

Peggy looked absolutely murderous. “Call me _Marge_ one more time, and I’ll have you worse than knocked out in a back alleyway.”

Jack just laughed, steering her over to her old desk where a veritable ton of backlogged files sat wobbling in the air-conditioned breeze. “Ain’t she a riot? Well get crackin’ then, we’ve got tons of files just waitin’ for you to close them out.” The smug file on his face made her want to break his pretty little nose. “You’re so much better at this kind of thing. _Sousa!_ ”

Daniel got back to his desk with an exasperated sigh. “What now, Thompson?”

“Ah!” Jack wagged his finger at the other man. “That’s _Chief_ Thompson to you.” He walked himself backward to his office, still smiling. “Get Carter up to speed, will you?” He clapped twice. “Chop chop, ladies, we don’t got all day!”

They both watched his door close with matching frowns, before Daniel shook his head, trying for a smile instead. “We _do_ have all day, actually. It’s been real slow in here since you left.” He waited until her Thompson-induced frown had gone away completely before adding, “Welcome back.”

Peggy sighed, hanging her coat on the rack behind her desk. “Thank you, Daniel. Despite Agent Thompson and his remarkable idiocy, it is rather good to be back.”

He laughed, sitting back in his chair with a graceless thump. “We’ll see if you still think so after all that paperwork. He’s been telling everyone to pile their files on your desk on purpose.”

She rolled her eyes. “I didn’t expect any different.”

The day passed quietly after that, extraordinarily mundane, with the occasional office noise punctured by Jack’s asinine commentary on her work ethic so loud Peggy swore the women at the switchboards could hear him.

“Got those boots strapped back on yet, Carter?”

“You still on vacation time standard time, agent? What, didn’t catch up on all your needlework and pie-bakin’?” 

“Drip’s runnin’ low, Marge! Be a doll and make a fresh pot, would you?”

By the time 5 o’clock came straggling toward her, Peggy was about ready to throttle someone. Really, anyone would have done at that point, what with her vision filled to the brim with report upon report, fingers smudged with typewriter ink, the curves and edges of all those letters making a personal effort to rap at the backs of her eyelids and slice them up to pieces like an automat pie. She breathed out slowly, closing her eyes and pinching her sinus in a futile effort to dull the pain. She heard a quiet chuckle from the desk in front of her.

“Still glad to be back?”

She glared half-heartedly at Daniel, her consternation belied by the small smirk on her face. “Suprisingly.” She rose from her desk, gathering up her things and swinging on her coat. “Are you heading home? Shall we head down together?”

“Uh, well, listen, Peggy…” Daniel rubbed the back of his head. “Actually, I thought maybe tonight we could finally grab that drink?”

Peggy went still, and she had barely opened her mouth to spout off an excuse when the chief’s office door burst open.

“Drinks! Great, you buyin’ Sousa?” Jack slapped his homburg on his head at an angle, completely oblivious to the glares the two agents sent his way. “Boy could I go for a cold one right about now.” He strode over to the elevator doors, hands buried in his coat pockets, and raised an eyebrow when he noticed his fellow agents still rooted to their spots.

“Well, Peg n’ Leg? Y’comin’ or not?”

“Daniel,” Peggy whirled on her heel to face him, an all-too-innocent smile on her face. “Would you mind terribly if I brought a friend?”

She pointedly ignored the snorted, “You even _got_ any friends, Carter?” from across the room with a single twitch of her eyebrow, keeping her eyes on Daniel’s slightly confused, mostly disappointed expression. Still, he gave her a polite smile, nodding.

“ _Fan_ -tastic.” She picked up the receiver on her desk, spinning the rotary with a red-tipped nail. “I’ll only be but a moment then…”

 

* * *

 

The three agents had settled into a shabby old gin mill two blocks over from the office. The place was dark and dank, with wobbly chairs and shafts of setting sunlight illuminating long strips of dust swirling in the air. Still, Jack swore up and down they had the best whisky in midtown.

“You can take a good whisky, can’t you Carter? None of that noodle juice you Brits go crazy for.”

Peggy glared daggers at him. “If you’ll remember the last time we drank together, Jack, it was _you_ who ended up half-seas over.”

He glared right back. “Whaddn’t _that_ drunk.”

“Of course you were. Ramirez and I thoroughly enjoyed your wobbly rendition of _Doctor, Laywer, Indian Chief,_ by the way.” She grinned wickedly. “I think that bottle of Macallan you were wooing was quite enamoured as well.”

“I’m sure your sauce was just as taken with you as you were with it, Thompson.” Daniel sniggered, clearing his throat abruptly at the glare Jack sent his way to shut him up.

“Where’s this friend of yours, Carter? She comin’ any day now or what?”

“Oh don’t get your knickers in a twist.” Peggy’s sudden, pretty smile took both the men off guard as she gestured over to the door with her chin. “In fact, there she is now.”

The three agents stood in greeting as a petite woman approached their table, light blue summer dress swishing around her calves. Her smile was for Peggy as she approached them, but her eyes lit up in glee as she recognized the men standing at her friends’ side.

The men whose jaws were now swinging wide open at this sight of her.

Angie bit her cheek to keep in a giggle, delighting in Peggy’s shit-eating grin as she came to stand by her side. “Hey, Agent Blondie. So how _is_ Gam-Gam these days?”

“Carter, what in the hell?”

Peggy put an introductory hand on Angie’s back. “Gentlemen, this is my very dear friend, Angie Martinelli. Angie, this is Daniel Sousa,” Daniel shook himself out of it, shaking her hand with a welcoming smile. “And Jack Thompson.”

Jack didn’t offer his hand. “You’re that bearcat from The Griffith! Thought you said the two of you were only friendly!”

“We are,” Angie nodded, trying to keep her smile from growing at the man’s clear befuddlement. “Best friendly.”

That got a chuckle out of Daniel, who shook his head at Jack’s still open maw, and spoke gently, mostly in jest. “Interference in a federal investigation is a criminal offense, Miss.”

Peggy just shrugged, answering for her. “She saved my hide—from the likes of you two, actually—so I’m granting her full pardon.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed. “What makes you think you’ve got the authority to do that?”

“What makes you think I don’t?”

“You shouldn’t forget your place, _Marge_.”

“And _you_ shouldn’t forget, the only reason you have any authority at all is because _I_ had prudence enough to remain silent when those men from Washington came to the office. I’d say you rather owe me then, wouldn’t you, _Chief?_ ”

Daniel’s sudden bark of laughter had the two glaring agents startled. Angie had a palm smothering her laughter as well, standing beside Daniel to watch the showdown. She leaned toward him as she spoke.

“They always like this?”

“Yeah, Thompson’s an ass.”

Jack thumped a fist on the table. “Damnit, Sousa—”

“A right arse,” Peggy agreed, pulling out a chair for Angie, who beamed at her as she sat. Peggy took the chair beside her, settling back comfortably. “Any more complaints?”

Jack wouldn’t let up. “You told a civilian about the agency?”

“Oh heavens no, only the fun parts.”

Angie nodded seriously. “Yeah, like how she managed to take out some big shot tough guy with a tame right hook.” She mimed an incredibly small punch with a tiny fist, “ _Pow_ , just like that.” She fluttered her eyelashes at him innocently, watching his face flush a blotchy red. “Oh gee, I’m awful sorry, was that you?”

Daniel and Peggy both snorted, the former hiding it behind a fist while the latter bit her cheeks to stop from laughing outright. Jack looked like he was about to pop a vessel, but his tone was almost whiny.

“God- _damnit_ , Carter!”

Peggy swallowed her laughter. “As much a novel concept as this might be to you, Jack, women _talk_.”

His lip curled up in a sneer. “Yeah, yeah, fine. C’mon limpy, let the women do their talkin’ then.”

The two watched them go, waiting until they were busy waving down the barkeep to let lose their laughter. Peggy’s smile was enormous as she leaned toward her friend.

“Thank you for coming, Angie. I hope it wasn’t too much of a bother.”

Angie flopped a wrist at her, dismissive. “And miss a chance to mess with these chums again? Ain’t gonna turn that down, English.” She gestured to Daniel with a tilt of her head. “He seems alright, though. Y’know, when he isn’t barging into my room threatening your integrity and all.”

Peggy’s smile turned a bit fond as she rested her chin in her hand, side-eyeing the man in question. “Yes, he’s one of the good ones.”

She missed the way Angie stiffened just slightly at that, tossing narrowed eyes back and fourth between the man at the bar and her friend. If her tone went stiff too, well, who could really tell in the noise?

“You should go for it.”

Peggy’s eyes flew back to hers, head popping up out of her palm in surprise.

_“What?”_

The other woman shrugged. “I’m just sayin’, I’ve been here all of five minutes and he’s already thrown you at least ten of those wounded puppy dog looks. It’s clear he’s interested.”

Peggy pursed her lips. “And what makes you think _I’m_ interested?”

Angie regarded her for a moment. “Aren’t you?”

She fiddled with the bar napkin, watching some of the other patrons of the bar, stragglers and loners on an early Thursday evening. “I thought about it, once. Before all this mess with Howard and his ridiculous ‘bad babies.’” She and Angie exchanged an amused look at that. “But it was nothing more than that: just a thought. Fleeting at best.”

“And why’s that?”

Peggy huffed, smiling a bit exasperated at her. “Has anyone ever told you that you ask _far_ too many questions?”

Angie smirked, tongue-in-cheek. “Yes, now go on an’ answer it, please.”

She could see the men on their way back, glasses of amber liquid swirling in their hands. Well, mostly in Thompson’s hands, but Daniel was doing his best with just the one. Then she turned back to Angie, big blue eyes watching her with _that look_ again, the one she couldn’t read, and her lips flattened into a line. She held Angie’s gaze steadily in her own as she said,

“There were only two people who came through for me that day, Angie. _He_ was not one of them.”

The slow smile on Angie’s face then told her she got her meaning just fine. And then the boys reached the table, and their gaze was broken, but the brief touch of Angie’s fingertips on her wrist kept the smile on her face for the rest of the night.

_Yes_ , she thought, staring round at that evening’s bar fellows, laughter and lighthearted ease surrounding them, _it seemed life was turning out just fine after all._

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Angie finally learns just why The Captain America Adventure Program makes Peggy want for blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter, woohoo! Wow you guys, thanks again for all the comments and kudos! I think this is pretty much the last chapter with all this old recycled material in it :p It's short and probably boring, but alas! This domestic universe calls for all the rehashing.
> 
> Enjoy and Happy Reading!

* * *

  

The first time Angie heard it, she didn’t know what to think.

It was one of those times where she had closing shift at the automat (now that she _could_ take closing shift, not having to worry about getting locked out of the building should she get back to The Griffith even two seconds later than curfew), and Peggy had been working such long hours at the office that the actress insisted she not wait up. For once in her life, Peggy was too tired to argue.

That evening, she returned home to a house illuminated only by a gentle porch-lit glow, cicadas singing in the damp summer air. The quiet that greeted her as she stepped into the cool foyer had her smiling. Good. Lord knew her friend needed the rest.

She was up the stairs and just about to close her door when she heard it.

A yell. 

A muffled yell, that sounded more like it was surprised out of someone than elicited by some sort of stubbed toe or clumsy moment like that. And Angie’s heart jumped into her throat, because her first thought was that there was someone in the house. Her second thought—that maybe Dottie had come back to finish the job—had her grabbing her brother’s old hefty baseball bat out of her closet, ready to maybe beat ol’ Iowa over the head a couple of times.

She crept down the hall toward Peggy’s room, nerves rattling around her ribs, took a deep breath, and was about ready to kick down the door when another yell stopped her completely.

_“Steve!”_

Angie felt her face burst into flame, and again her mind went running in the opposite direction from where it probably should have, because her _third_ thought was that her roommate had taken advantage of her late shift to _entertain a gentleman caller_ , so to speak. But then after the moment of loaded silence that followed, that thought was torn into tiny shreds along with her heart, because she heard another sound, and this one shot her through like a bullet to the chest.

A sob.

Peggy was crying.

_Peggy was crying._

The waitress dropped her batting arm to her side, noiselessly retreating back to her room with a lump in her throat. Had she ever heard the Englishwoman cry like that? Aside from a few straggling tears on a few rare occasions, had she ever seen her cry at all? A knot of anger tightened in her stomach as she closed her door behind her, and then a fourth thought hit her.

Who was this Steve fella, and how dare he make Peggy sad?

The next morning the agent came down the stairs immaculate as always, greeting her with a warm smile that betrayed nothing of the night before, and Angie decided to follow her lead. She probably got it all wrong, anyhow. Maybe it was nothing. So she shrugged it off, handed her friend a cup of English breakfast tea, and bid her a good day.

She had nearly forgotten all about it when it happened again.

This time, it was loud enough to wake Angie from her own dreams. She could hear Peggy thrashing around through the wall, the problem (though Angie had insisted it was a benefit when Peggy suggested choosing rooms for themselves separated by more than just one layer of wood and plaster) with sleeping in the only two bedrooms in the house that were side by side. She was out of her bed in an instant, about to charge over there to calm her friend when she heard the call again.

_“Steve, don’t!”_

That lump was back in her throat again, palms pressed flat to their shared wall, forehead pressed there too, listening. Peggy’s crying was quiet this time, choked out in tiny quiet hiccoughs that made Angie want to tear through the plaster with her nails to get to her.

Who in the Sam Heck was this Steve?

The next morning again, Peggy was down the stairs with a smile, not a pin curl out of place, and Angie couldn’t help eyeballing the perfect ease with which her housemate was puttering around the kitchen, clinking about adding cream to the mug of coffee Angie had waiting for her. She took a small sip of her own, trying not to frown.

“Morning, Peg. Everything okay?”

Peggy didn’t bat an eyelash, near draining her coffee mug in one go, and Angie spared a moment to be impressed with the way she didn’t even wince at what _had_ to burn on the way down. “Of course, why wouldn’t it be?” She washed out her mug in the sink, grabbing her suit jacket and swinging it over her shoulders. “I’m sorry to cut out so early this morning, but I’m afraid I’m running a bit late. I’ll see you tonight, yes?”

Angie had barely started to question Peggy’s remarkable resemblance to a hummingbird when she flew out of the kitchen, tossing a “Have a good day, Angie!” over her shoulder. She was left blinking into the draft her friend left behind, mouth hanging slightly agape. She closed it with a click of teeth, pouting at the kitchen window as she took another sip of her coffee, suddenly much more bitter than it had been a couple of minutes ago.

_“Okay_ my eye!”

The third time it happened, Angie gave up. It was near three in the morning on a Sunday, they both had nowhere to be the whole day, and she’d be damned if she let the other woman keep hiding this from her; keep hurting over this _without_ her, not if she could help it. She forced herself to lie still, burying her hands under her pillow to try and numb out of them the maddening feeling of wanting to wrap them around Peggy in comfort, and waited. Sleep didn’t come back to her that night, lips flattened into a thin line.

What happened to no more secrets, huh?

She blurted it out the next morning, over toast and jam and a copy of the Times. "Who's Steve?"

The way Peggy violently snorted into her teacup would have been funny if the question wasn't bothering her so much. She watched the Englishwoman wipe roughly at the liquid spilled down her chin, coughing into a cloth napkin to force it out of her windpipe.

"Good _God_ , Angie," She gasped, turning unbelievably wide eyes to her friend.

Angie winced at herself, knowing the question was blunt, but, "Sorry Peg...just, I gotta know."

She watched her jaw work soundlessly for a moment before she responded. "When— _Where_ did you even— _how do you know about him?_ "

The waitress sighed, moving to the counter to make her friend a fresh cup of tea, seeing as her last one ended up mostly all over the table. It also served as a welcome distraction from Peggy's eyes, currently boring a hole in between her shoulder blades.

"You call for him, sometimes. In your sleep."

She turned back around in time to see Peggy run a shaky hand through her hair, catching the tail end of a mumbled string of bloody something’s as she replaced her cup. She sat back down, letting the other woman putter about cleaning her sodden mess from the table in a clear attempt to buy herself some time. It was only when she plopped herself ungracefully back in the chair with a huff did Angie raise her eyebrows, imploring.

"Well?"

Peggy cleared her throat. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize I was so...vocal."

Angie's eyes went soft. "You don't need to apologize for nightmares, Peg. We all get 'em sometimes."

Another clearing of her throat. "Yes well, I'll try not to wake you next occasion."

"You're avoiding the question, English."

Peggy's eyes flitted around wildly for a moment, looking for an escape, to which Angie just allowed herself the luxury of putting both her elbows on the table without reprimand, rested her chin in her palms, and waited.

After clearing her throat for the third time in less than five minutes, the other woman spoke, her voice hoarse and quiet. "Steve...Captain Steven Grant Rogers, or as you might better know him, Captain America."

Angie's eyes went wide, mouth popping open. Peggy still wouldn’t meet her gaze, and it was then something occurred to her.

"Oh my god!" The other woman startled like a frightened rabbit as Angie's palms slapped onto the table. "Oh my _god!_ Peg— _you're_ Betty Carver?!" Angie couldn’t help the few giggles that escaped her, watching a bright flush crawl over her friend's face, even as it contorted into a deep scowl.

"I'll have you know, I am nothing like the daft, star-spangled _simpleton_ from that _bloody_ radio show." She sniffed, sticking her nose into the air as she crossed her arms in a way so huffy and so _English_ that Angie couldn’t fight off her giggling anymore. This only made Peggy’s scowl nearly crack her face in half.

"I mean _really_ —" Peggy slipped into her best American accent as she quoted, _"What a beautiful day to mend these pants!"_ The indignation that followed had Angie gasping for breath, her sides in stiches. "Mend pants my arse! If any of those boys even joked about my housemaking along after them I'd clock them straight in the jaw!"

“I can’t believe you never told me!” Her laughter tapered off into a few deep breaths. “This why you always get so… _murder-y_ when it comes on?”

Peggy made a face. “I do not get _murder-y_ —”

“Oh you sure do, all twitchy and angry and the like.”

“It’s a right mockery, is what it is! That damnable program. It’s disrespectful, to the war, to _me_ , to _Steve_ —” She cut herself off, frowning bitterly as her eyes dropped to the floor. And all the heat was gone from her voice when she spoke again. “He wasn’t just some sort of ridiculous cymbal monkey, traipsing around the county selling war bonds…he did real good out there. He saved…he saved us all.”

She's quiet for a moment, watching Peggy’s eyes grow more distant by the second, watching her drown in the same memories that have kept her up at night, and Angie felt that weight just as keenly as if she was drowning with her. So she did the only thing she could think of to pull her out of it. She talked.

“What about you?”

Those eyes snapped back into focus at her question. “Sorry?”

Her smile was impish. “And what about you, Miss Betty Carver? Just how many times _did_ ol’ Hitler there take you hostage anyhow?”

Peggy actually does twitch at the name, and she couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her as her point was proven. The other woman rolled her eyes, shooting her a mock glare.

"I beg your pardon! Agent Margaret Carter of The Strategic Scientific Reserve is _nobody’s_ damsel in distress." The pride with which Peggy recited her formal title had Angie grinning as she watched the way the other woman puffed up with importance just a bit more genuine than her usual stiff posture. “I was out there with the best of them, you know. Running operations in the field, fighting the good fight. The 107 th were _my_ boys, Angie. _They_ followed _my_ lead, not the other way around.” But then she deflated, pushing her hair away from her face in frustration. "And now I've been reduced to running lunch orders and fetching coffee like some sort of—"

"Waitress?"

Peggy's eyes flew back to hers, wide. "No, oh, _no_ , Angie, that's _not_ what I meant."

Angie shrugged. "I know, English."

But Peggy just shook her head fervently. “No, that…it’s completely different. You put up with the automat and its insufferable patronage in order to chase your dreams. That is true strength, and I am in awe of you, always. Please remember that.”

Angie’s whole face softened in the morning light, and she’s looking at Peggy with that look on her face again, but it was gone before she had a chance to explore it again.

“He’s the one you lost. In the war.”

Peggy’s quiet “yes” had her moving into the chair at her side, taking her hand. She was just as quiet with her request.

“Tell me about him.”

“I…wouldn’t know where to start.”

“How about at the beginning?”

The smile Peggy gave her for that settled under her skin, wrapped around her heart, made the whole world seem much brighter than it was mere moments ago. And then Peggy started to speak. 

“I suppose you could say it all started at the 1943 World’s Expo. Dr. Abraham Erskine was a good man, intent on helping the world rid itself of the virus called HYDRA. And when he found Steve that night, he knew, through him, that it was finally possible…”

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peggy goes and gets herself hurt, and Angie is doesn't know what to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa okay, talk about a gap between chapters. Sorry guys, life happened and then I went to the Martinelli homeland for two weeks and now I'm back and ready to write! Hope everyone is doing well! Thanks so, so very much for all the comments and kudos and even you ghost readers out there. This chapter gave me all sorts of brain pain, so I apologize for any mistakes and general lack of quality. Kinda angsty this time but not to worry, it'll sort itself out.
> 
> Enjoy and happy reading!

* * *

 

When Peggy goes out on missions, Angie is always terrified. Suddenly she understands what all the fuss was for, a couple years back when most her friends saw off their fellas to the war, and would come back shaking and pacing and crying something awful for weeks afterward. Because sure, she felt something similar watching the boys in her family leave just the same, but the way she feels _now_ —whenever her friend comes looking for her with that small, slightly guilty look on her face, hands folded over the other in front of her in the only nervous habit Peggy lets herself consciously have—she gets a feeling in her stomach so much worse than dread she can’t _stand_ it.

The first one could have gone better, for the both of them. It was a hushed conversation leaning over the bar counter at the automat, fervent whispers that _she has to go_ and _yes, right now, she’s ever so sorry,_ and _not to worry, should it all go according to plan she’ll be back within the week._ Angie understood, honest she did, but that didn’t stop the frown on her face, or the fear in her eyes, or the threat in her words that if Peggy went and got herself killed on this little field trip she’d resurrect her sorry behind just to kill’er herself.

Peggy had just smiled in a way that was entirely too charming to be acceptable in the face of Angie’s ire, and darted out the revolving doors.

Of course nothing had gone to plan, because when do any of Angie’s prayers get answered?—and Peggy showed up a week and half later, black and blue and bleeding all over their fancy imported Norwegian wood floors, insisting it was _a smashing success, despite her appearance,_ and _no she will not be going to the hospital_ because _explaining away her injuries to appalled doctors and nurses and eventually policeman is far more hassle than a few new scars were worth_. Angie wants to shake that haughty stubbornness right outta her pretty little head, like the fear and worry she’d felt souring in her belly for eleven days had been shaking the sanity out of _hers_.

Nevertheless, Angie was gentle as ever as she led her up the stairs, turned her bedroom into a makeshift infirmary and spent the night playing nursemaid to her injured solider.

The next time Peggy approached her with that look again was far too soon after that last time, and Angie thought at this rate, she might end up grey before she hit thirty. Turns out she didn’t need to worry, because it was only a two day trip upstate to one of Howard’s storage facilities, but she was still confused.

“You his errand girl now, Peg? Why can’t he go get whatever it is himself?”

Peggy crossed her arms, vexed at the idiot industrialist for what had to be the umpteenth time. “Because the office needs it, and Howard—utter _wanker_ that he is—insists that if we want it, _we_ have to go get it.”

Angie had bit her cheek to keep from giggling at the annoyed look on the other woman’s face, putting a sympathetic hand on her arm. “Just try not to poke around too much in there, okay? I heard Howard has a knack for makin’ things explode if you even _look_ at ‘em the wrong way.”

Peggy had laughed, squeezed her forearm in farewell, and Angie saw her off at their front door with a wave and only a small knot of fear lodged in her chest this time around. And true to her word, Peggy was back exactly two days later, impossibly _more_ annoyed than when she had left, and with plenty of choice words reserved for “that porcine ingrate Thompson,” but otherwise harm free.

In the months that followed, Peggy stayed stationary and Angie stayed sane by proxy.

She should’ve known it wouldn’t stay that way.

It was a relatively normal Tuesday by Angie’s standards. She had woken up an hour later than usual, basking in the fact that it was her day off and that meant she could spend the day inhaling the scent of fall instead of fryers. A plate of fresh scones and jam—courtesy of Jarvis—and a note telling her to enjoy her day off—courtesy of Peggy—were waiting for her in the kitchen, and she tucked the small paper into her robe pocket for safe keeping. She had an old hatbox under her bed quickly accruing a generous amount of these little notes. Angie secretly loved them, but then she figured it wasn’t such a secret after all, because she knew Peggy only did it for that reason in the first place 

The rest of her day saw a late lunch with Carol and Gloria that somehow ended up with all three of them lounging around in the drawing room, after a demand on Carol’s part that Angie finally show them her new digs.

“It’s been nearly a _year_ , Ange! Thought we were welcome anytime!”

She couldn’t very well say anything after that.

They had just finished an afternoon tea—a habit Peggy had gotten her into, much to the amusement of her friends—when she heard the tumblers start to unlatch in the front door. The heavy wood opened in the foyer, and Angie perked up over the side of the couch. "Peg? You home?"

And before she could warn her of their company, there Peggy was, standing tall in her military issue combat uniform, boots tightly laced and hair pulled back from her face in a ponytail. She carried a coil of dark rope around one shoulder, disproportionately large black duffle on the other—the one that Angie knew had in it at least one of her favorite British Royal Forces issue automatics, amongst other things she wasn't supposed to know about as a "civilian."

Angie winced at the shock buzzing around three different faces, before Peggy cleared her throat, schooling her features into a pleasant smile. "Good evening ladies. I apologize for my state of dress," Angie could see the brief accusation in her glance, ducking her head slightly in silent apology. "I was unaware we had company."

Gloria whistled low, impressed. "Wow Peggy, what're you up to in a getup like that?"

One side of Carol's mouth pulled down in a frown. "Yeah, thought you worked at New York Bell?"

"Oh, this old thing," Peggy gave a short, staccato laugh, the uncomfortable one that highlighted her native British roots. "There was a mechanical issue with the switchboards today, I'm afraid. None of the technicians were available for repair."

"So they made _you_ do it?"

"I've some experience in engineering, you know, from the war." As if that explained everything, which, judging by the understanding nods that garnered from their friends, it apparently did.

"Angie, could I borrow you for a moment?"

The smaller woman cleared her throat around a quiet "sure," shooting her friends a slightly exaggerated sunny smile. "Back in a jiff, girls."

Peggy kept her polite smile until they reached the downstairs bedroom, where it promptly fell off her face in tandem with the click of the shutting door. Angie's nerves shot into her hands.

"I'm sorry Peg! They just sort of ended up comin’ round and I tried to call you at the office but Daniel said you'd already left—"

Peggy held up a hand. "It's quite alright. This is your home as well; I want you to feel free to have company." She smiled at the relief on the other woman's face. "I take full responsibility for my carelessness, but I'm under a bit of a time restraint at the moment."

Angie bit her lip in understanding, storm clouds forming in her blue eyes. "Damn it all, English, right now?"

"I'm afraid so." She gave her worried friend a lopsided smile, patting her wringing hands gently in comfort. "It's nothing too strenuous, I promise. I'll be back before you know it."

The shorter woman didn't look convinced, pit settled firmly into the bottom of her stomach, but she knew from experience now that no amount of arguing could keep her from her mission, and so swallowed her sigh.

"Can you at least tell me where you're going this time, or is that—"

"Classified." They both said it at the same time. Angie huffed, mouth twisting into a frown as the other woman let out a noiseless chuckle. She wrapped her arms snugly around the Englishwoman's shoulders, mumbling petulantly into her collar. "Come back in one piece, okay?"

A pair of arms snaked around her waist, squeezing gently. "I'll do my best."

 

* * *

 

Three weeks.

It had been three weeks since that day Peggy had left on some super secret spy mission and disappeared without a word since. Three weeks since Angie had been wandering around the house like a draft, trying to fill her time with everything and anything she could think of. Work sucked up a good chunk of it, having to worry about dropping plates and wandering hands was good enough distraction from worrying about anything else. She also went to just about every open casting call in the whole of New York City (or what _felt_ like the whole of New York City)—after work, before work, heck sometimes _during_ work, if the venue was close enough to get there and back within her lunch break. Any time she had between _that_ was spent avoiding the hell out of their home, hating the way the lights were off when she came back after a long day, the way she called out into the house, hoping for a response and never getting one. She hated how fast the place had turned from a palace to a mausoleum without Peggy there with her, hated how small and alone she felt wandering halls that had never felt empty with Peggy to share them with. She hated the quiet, hated the dark, hated _all of it_.

So it was with a relief so strong it almost made her sob that she went running at the sound of the front door flying open, bouncing off the adjacent wall from the force. Her stockings slid her around the corner, fully prepared to either tear her friend a fresh one for being gone so long, or just throw herself at her bodily and see where that took them. What she _wasn’t_ prepared for, however, was the sight that greeted her instead.

Angie felt her heartbeat skyrocket into her throat. The name fell from her lips in a half-shrieked, high-pitched warble.

_"Peggy!"_

The other woman was nearly unconscious, cradled limply in the arms of the massive man with even larger puppy dog eyes standing hunched in her doorway. Her eyes fluttered open when Angie reached her, taking her cold fingers in a terrified grip.

"God, what the hell happened t'her?!"

The man looked at her with mournful eyes, inclining his head in a small greeting. "Timothy Dugan miss, sorry we have to meet under these circumstances."

Angie's eyes never left the woman in his arms, even as she offered him a quiet "nice to meet you." Her free hand came up to Peggy's forehead, gently brushing back wisps of hair from her eyes when dark, fluttering lashes finally found her own.

"Ange…"

"Yeah honey, it's me."

“M’back.”

The waitress gave a choked laugh around the fear strangling her. “I see that.”

Peggy’s eyes closed again, a grimace twisting her face. “Smarts.”

Angie exchanged an alarmed glance with the man. The day Peggy Carter admitted to being in pain was the day hell froze over. Or her brother Frankie stopped stripping cars in Richmond. So, basically never. She waved Dugan in, steering him toward one of the downstairs bedrooms, attention never leaving the woman in his arms as she tried her darndest to keep her tone from shaking as badly as her hands. “What does, Peg?”

“Evr’thing.”

The way her words were slurring had Angie near to a full-blown panic. She pushed open the doors to the master suite, swallowing her heart that kept crawling back up her throat, and then the man behind her spoke, his tone almost reverent.

“She saved a lotta lives that night. Took a blast to the side and it tore a hole through ‘er. But my men and I wouldn’t be standin’ here if it whaddn’t for her.”

Angie went white as a sheet, bringing a trembling hand to her mouth to hold in the sudden nausea at the thought of her friend with _a hole blown through her torso._ And then the fear turned to hot anger in her belly.

"My god, Peg, what part of _'come back in one piece'_ do you not understand?!"

Peggy gave a pained, breathy laugh that ended in a muffled cry as Dugan placed her on the bed as gently as he knew how.

"Sorry."

That was when she saw it. The entire left side of Peggy’s jumpsuit was torn to shreds, fabric curling away in big gaping holes to reveal burned and gnarled flesh, old bandages dirtied and splotched with blood. Angie’s stomach churned again at the dark, glistening wet that was soaking through the material, crawling in lazy rivulets between the gauze to spread onto the crisp white sheets under her. 

And Dugan, bless his heart, had a Peggy-shaped Rorschach of blood, spread right across his chest.

Angie felt her world spin, allowing one moment only to choke down her horror with a hand to her forehead before she shook it off with a deep inhale. She kneeled by the bed, holding one of Peggy’s cold hands with both of her own.

"Peg, we gotta get you to a doctor—"

"No," The woman gasped out, her grip tightening around Angie's fingers. "No hospital."

Peggy's eyes were unfocused, feverish gleam washing them over in glaze. Angie swallowed hard and darted for the phone, the line picking up after only two rings.

"Jarvis residence."

"Mr. Jarvis, it's Angie."

There was a pause, probably because this was the first time Angie had ever used his given name. "Miss Martinelli, is everything alright—"

"Peggy's hurt, real bad, won't let me take her to a hospital, and I don't—I don't know what to do."

The tears were clogging her throat at this point, rattling her bones as she clutched onto the receiver like a lifeline. She heard a harshly expelled breath, before, "I'll be there shortly. Stay with her, Miss Martinelli," and the line went dead.

Dugan stood off to the side, fiddling with the bowler hat in his hands as a sign of nerves. Angie’s eyes looked right through him for a long moment, one hand on the receiver, and then Peggy made another sound of pain, and she snapped back into focus.

“I need to clean her up,” Angie said quietly, and Dugan gave her a single nod, making to step outside. He hesitated just in the doorway, worried eyes flicking between her and Peggy’s now unconscious form on the bed. The smile she gave him then was wobbly but reassuring.

“I’m sure Peggy’d appreciate it, if you wanted to stay.”

The man looked relieved. “Just ‘til we know she’s okay, if that’s alright with you, Miss.”

Angie understood. “Would you mind sending in Mr. Jarvis when he comes? He’ll be an English fella in a suit.”

Dugan placed his hat back on his head, tipping it slightly at her. “Sure thing.”

As soon as he shut the door, Angie was on autopilot. She carefully unlaced Peggy’s boots, peeled off her socks, unzipped her combat uniform, gently dabbed away blood and dirt and grime from her skin—all the while moving like an ungreased automaton, the world feeling like a record playing too slow, like an ocean tide crashed above her head. It was when she brought the damp washcloth to Peggy’s face, strained and tense beneath the cover of unconsciousness, that she finally paused. Her fingers shook as she gently traced the contours of her face, mapping the lines with a feather-light touch, the valleys and plains of her cheeks and brow.

“What were you thinking, Peggy?”

There was a single knock on the door before it pushed open, and Jarvis stepped into the room, trailed by an older, portly gentleman with an apothecary bag in his hand. Jarvis’ face was lined with tension as he stepped forward.

“Miss Martinelli.” He gestured to the man, who inclined his head to her politely. “This is Dr. Rosen. He’ll be seeing to Miss Carter’s injuries.”

She nodded, feeling vaguely like she was dreaming as she watched the doctor go over to the bed and unload his bag. Jarvis’ gaze was on her as he spoke softly. “Not to worry. Dr. Rosen is one of the best.”

Angie briefly wondered how he seemed to know exactly what she was thinking. “Okay,” she nodded, voice small. “I’ll…leave you to it then.”

He escorted her gently out the door with a hand on her back. It was only when the door clicked shut behind her that she was startled back into awareness, shaking her head to dispel the fog. Her feet carried her back to the front of the house, where her foyer had all but turned into a campout.

Angie looked around at the various men and piles of combat gear scattered about the entryway, feeling rather gobsmacked at how her life had managed to bring her to this point, fretting like a kept woman worrying over her soldier, hoping they would come on back safe and sound.

Peggy didn’t come back safe. Not this time.

"Wow, Carter never mentioned she had such a beautiful dolly waitin' for her back home."

The frazzled young woman gave a start, realizing the tall, dark-skinned man currently smiling at her was, in fact, smiling at _her_. She returned it in kind, wiping her palms down the folds of her skirt.

"Sorry boys, musta left my manners in the other room." She stepped forward to the large, bowler-hatted man who had brought Peggy in, extending a hand to shake. "Mr. Dugan, you said? I'm Angie. Martinelli."

He offered her a small grin. “I know, Miss Union Jack’s told us all about ya.”

At Angie’s blank face, an Asian man stepped up beside them, rubbing at the scruff on his jaw with a flat look at Dugan. “Carter’ll have your hide if she hears you calling her that.” He gave her a kind but tired smile. “Jim Morita." 

Angie raised an eyebrow as the rest of them moved forward. “Could’a sworn you just said she’d never mentioned me, though.”

The man who had smiled at her before shook her hand next. “Gabe Jones, and she sure did, just didn’t say how lovely the lady was.”

Angie felt her face heat up despite herself, especially when the man with a pencil-thin mustache came forward then and took her hand, kissing the back with all the swagger of a true Frenchman. “Jacques Dernier, enchanté, belle dame.”

“Oh come off it you frog, show the lady some respect.” A man with a red beret and a jaunty mustache stepped forward, giving her a very English bow. “James Montgomery Falsworth, at your service.”

It clicked after she heard all their names. "Ah, the real 107th."

Falsworth’s eyebrows flew up in surprise. Angie waved it off. "Peggy's told me about all of you, too.”

Jarvis came out of the room then, mouth pulled down in a grim line. It quieted them all in an instant.

“Miss Martinelli, if you please.”

Angie closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath before moving forward, looking back at the men held at attention with a weak smile. “Thank you for bringing her home.”

She left them quiet, staring after her with the hard faces of soldiers who knew loss better than they knew themselves. Angie felt the bile rush up her throat again. She didn’t want to know loss like that. Not with Peggy. Not ever.

Jarvis closed the door behind her with a gentle click, cutting into the rattling breaths coming from the bed. The doctor was leaning over Peggy’s prone form, a hand on her wrist, pocket watch in his other, and a frown on his face. He looked up at them then, tucking his watch back into the folds of his vest as he stepped away from the bed.

Jarvis put a hand on her shoulder, mouth in a grimacing line. “Since she insists on doing this the hard way, you and I will have to hold her still while the good doctor…tends to the wound.”

Angie’s eyes flitted up to his, seeing the pinch of his brow, the worry in his blue eyes matching the worry in hers. His palm was comforting as he squeezed her shoulder in reassurance, and she took a deep breath, steeling herself with a jerky nod.

The butler stooped low, sliding his arms under Peggy and bringing her up into a sitting position, gently against his collar. Her head lolled forward onto his shoulder, eyes closed, and Angie wiped away the fear falling from her eyes with a hasty hand at the sight of her—the same woman who would rather bleed out all over the floor than have someone even hand her a plaster—letting them all handle her without even the pretense of protest.

Angie crawled behind her on the bed, ready as Jarvis carefully laid her into Angie’s arms. She brought the wounded woman back against her chest with one arm secure across her shoulders, the other pulling her head down gently to rest in the crook of her neck. She took a shaky breath, hushing her whines of protest in a quiet whisper before meeting Jarvis’ eyes. He nodded back at her, hands steady on the agent’s ankles. They both turned to the doctor then with a single, synchronized nod.

“Okay.”

The doctor brought damp gauze down onto the burned and gnarled flesh, and Peggy was writhing in an instant, her eyes flying open and a deep gasp soaking into Angie’s skin. She bit her lip in tears as the woman in her arms screamed guttural behind clenched teeth.

And all Angie could do was hold her, whispering apologies like a mantra as a coil of terror cold and serpentine tightened in her chest.

 

* * *

 

Howard was pacing outside the room when she stumbled out an hour later, white faced and wide eyed, nerves rattling her around like someone was physically shaking her senseless. She had barely looked at him as he stepped forward, mouth opening to speak when a sob Angie wasn’t even aware was coming cut him off. She slapped a hand over her mouth, gripping the folds of her skirt with white-knuckles.

Howard was the most serious she’d ever seen him, holding open his arms for her in nothing but shared pain between two of the people who cared about Peggy most in the entire world. Angie couldn’t stop herself from accepting, crying so hard into his lapels that she couldn’t take a full breath. The point of his chin came to rest atop her head.

“Peggy’s the strongest gal I’ve ever met.” His voice was low and scratchy, rough from keeping his own tears at bay. “If anyone’s gonna bounce back after somethin’ like that, it’s her.”

“I _never_ ,” she managed to gasp out, voice scraping against her throat like gravel. “ _Ever_ , want to do that again, Howard. I _can’t_.”

She didn’t see the contemplative look that overtook the industrialist then, his jaw setting against the side of her head. “You won’t have to.” He rubbed a calming hand up and down her back, her trembling not subsiding in the least.

_“I promise.”_

 

* * *

 

It was hours later that the doctor had come and gone, Jarvis departing after him with a promise to return in the morning. The bright light of a gibbous moon poured through the bay windows, mixing with soft lamplight in the drawing room, where Angie’s wobbly legs had taken her after following all the noise. The rustle and chatter quieted when she came into the room, and she tried for a smile, weary and boneless.

“She’ll be just fine. Just needs to rest.”

The noise resumed then, zips and clacks and the unfurling of bedrolls the only sounds for a moment as she watched Peggy’s boys set up camp in their house like it was a battlefield barrack. She leaned a shoulder against the entryway frame with crossed arms.

“You boys can take a bed, you know. Lord knows there’s enough of them.”

Howard shook his head as he breezed past her, making his way over to the couch and flopping down on his back. “Wouldn’t be proper, Ange.”

That earned a snort from Jones. “Since when’re you concerned with bein’ _proper_ , Stark?”

“Hey, I can be good to my women, awright bub?”

Falsworth gave a very English harrumph from his place on the floor. “I’d find it much more believable that Carter put the fear of God into you, rather than you quite suddenly developing _morals_.”

Howard scowled at the round of laughter, and Angie chose to ignore all of it in favor of raising an eyebrow, because yeah, Peggy threatening Howard away from her is exactly what happened. Even still, “It’s _your house_ , Howard.”

“Nah.” He crossed his arms over his chest, closing his eyes. “Gave it to you and Peg. It’s yours now.”

Angie’s eyes fell to the floor at that, the room silent. She could feel everyone’s gazes on her, and for what may have been the first time in her life, the actress was distinctly uncomfortable with an audience. She cleared her throat, pushing herself off the doorframe with her shoulder. “Yeah, well…goodnight, then.”

Dugan’s mustache wriggled with his frown. “Someone should stay with Peg tonight—”

“I will!” The words flew out of her a bit louder than she intended, and she flushed as all eyes were back on her. “I-I will. I—” She cleared her throat, hands wringing nervously in front of her. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of her.”

It was Howard who gave her a surprisingly nice smile. “She’s in the best hands then.” Then he rolled over, closing his eyes again. “Now leave the lady to it n’ go t’sleep, y’buncha sorry sacks.”

A pillow flew across the room. “Aw shut yer trap, Stark.”

“ _Damnit_ , Jones!”

Angie made her retreat with a half-hearted huff of amusement, letting their chatter drift behind her as she made her way back into the house. The shadows swallowed her whole as she reached the bedroom, quiet as she made her way inside.

Angie took a long moment to watch the figure on the bed, watching the rise and fall of her chest, listening to the sound of her breathing; she kept herself pressed against the door, hand still gripping the knob behind her back, afraid to even blink should the moonlight be playing tricks on her.

No. Peggy was alive. She was safe. She’d be okay now.

With that thought she made her way to the armchair, pulling it over until the seat was pressed up against the side of the bed and crawled into it, curling up in a way she knew would give her the most awful crick in her neck by morning. She didn’t care. Peggy’s hand was close enough to hold, face free of pain and fever gleam for the first time since she’d been brought home, and there was a wad of bed sheets soaking away all of the day’s terror in the bathtub.

That was enough, for now.

“You come back to me, English. Y’hear?” She whispered roughly into the room, finally letting the stress of the day swell in her chest and burst from her lips. “I’ll never forgive you if you don’t.”

And not for the first time since Peggy Carter had come into her life, Angie cried herself to sleep.

 


End file.
